Kiss Me Deadly
by Eveilae
Summary: [a shizunextsunade songfic] Shizune's working at a bar and studying to be a doctor when she crosses paths with Tsunade, who's everything she thought she didn't want and is nothing more than what she really needs. [AU]


**KISS ME DEADLY  
****a shizune x tsunade songfic.**

**_I do not own Naruto or the song, Kiss Me Deadly._**

**Warnings: yuri, mild cursing, AU, character tweaking.

* * *

_I went to a party last Saturday night  
I didn't get laid, I got in a fight,  
Uh, huh  
It ain't no big thing_ **

I hate it here, I think to myself, as I take another drink of my sake. I hate the big men that waltz in here and assume that because I'm a bartendress I'm easy. Then when they realize I'm not going to open my legs for them any time soon, they get all pissy and refuse to pay me. It's a horrible drama, because then I'm forced to call the bouncers, who really don't appreciate it.

I don't think they like me either.

I hate the women with too much makeup on that glance around for a man to beguile. Whenever one of those men spares me a glance, these women act as if I'm alive just to bother them.

Yeah, sure.

I take another drink.

Every so often, when I've drunk enough, and a good song comes up, I ask Ton-Ton to take over for me a little bit. She's so meek, she doesn't dare refuse me, and by this time I'm too drunk to care about being manipulative.

I saw this woman, one time. She was so obviously drunk, and at first glance she seemed to be one of those women with the silicone-stuffed boobs, and a flirty attitude to make up for a lack of intelligence. She kept knocking people down with her outrageous salsa dance. I was _nearly_ drunk enough to give her a piece of my mind when . . .

When she fell on me.

Working behind the bar, there aren't a whole lot of people that _fall_ on me. There's a few that will try to grope me while I pour their drink, but my hands usually slips and stains their shirts before they find anything to grab.

No, not a whole lot of being smothered by huge breasts in my career as a bartendress. I quickly moved to push her off, but her dress got in the way and instead, not only are we lying on the ground, but we're now tangled.

"Hey," the woman slurred in my ear, which makes me cringe. Now I had _women_ after me, too? These people could sometimes act as if they've never seen a person that isn't ugly in their whole lives. I'm not exactly _model_ material.

"Can you _please_ get yourself off me?" I hissed back. This was beginning to feel awkward, especially with her knee jammed into my—

"If you'll buy me another drink. I'm broke." What! She knocked _me_ over! She should have be buying _me_ a drink, damn it! "You work here. Come _on_, it's not like you have to _pay_."

Well, yes, that _did_ make sense, but I didn't _want _to give her a free drink. On the other hand, I liked breathing, and also not having to smell the scent of a drunken, sweaty woman. "Just get off. I'll get you a goddamn drink."

She pulled herself off, and dragged down her skirt so that she looked fairly decent. It was hard to look especially respectable, though, with her figure. She looked like a sexpot, no matter what. She also looked completely plastered.

But that was Tsunade for you.

At the bar, I begrudging poured the blonde a drink, and I hoped to whatever god may be out there that I would never have to put with her again.

I'm an atheist.

Ton-Ton came over, and I was about to bark at her to get back and serve the customers, when she greeted the wasted woman cheerfully. "Hello, Tsunade-sama! What are _you_ doin' around here?" It was slightly perplexing to hear the plump woman that usually was so quiet and reserved, speak so openly. It made me feel even worse for _using_ her, like everyone else here did.

"You work _here_?" Tsunade, as I had now learned her name was, asked in a disbelieving tone. "Ton-Ton, you can do better than this."

The plump woman with the dyed pink hair snorts derisively. "Maybe I can, maybe I can't, but Shizune-san, here, she sure can." Where did she get the _nerve_? She spoke of me as if I weren't there. I was drunk enough to say something, even, but that damn bimbo cut me off.

"What can you do?" She didn't say this in a snotty voice, like most people did. They all thought a bartendress could amount to nothing. Those people just gave me another reason to study my ass off and prove them wrong.

"I'm studying medicine," I reply simply, but I didn't stay long enough to hear her response. I was working, after all.

That night, once I'm back home in my apartment, and readying myself for my shower, I noticed a slip of paper falling out of my bra. I picked it up, careful and wary—how would a paper get in my bra?

It read: _Come to Voice That Carries next Friday. -Tsunade_

_**Late for my job and the traffic was bad  
Had to borrow ten bucks from my old man,  
Uh, huh  
It ain't no big thing **_

"Shizune-san! What do you think you're _doing_, walking in here a full two hours late?" My boss, Atsuko, has probably had her daily drink by now, and even if I had walked in on time, she would have found something to yell at me for.

"Traffic," I answer curtly, slipping off my jacket and hanging it on a hook in the employee's lounge. "Oh, can I take Friday afternoon off? My grandmother died and I've got to go to the funeral."

"Oh." I've always disliked the way people get sorry and quiet when death is mentioned. It's natural, death. That's one thing I've always known throughout my studies. If I make it and finally become a doctor, it will be the only thing keeping me going. "My condolences."

"Yeah, we weren't that close anyway." I clip on my name tap, which reads Call me Shizune.

The evening passes much like Wednesday evenings always do. The bar's a little emptier than it is on the weekends, but the Wednesday regulars are there to keep me company.

"Nee-san?" Robert, our residential foreigner calls me over in a halting Japanese. "Another sake, please?" I nod in his direction to show that I've heard him and I look for some clean glasses.

"Shizune-sama! I've heard you've got yourself a little girl trouble?" Yoko, an irregular regular at the bar, calls out. I raise an easy eyebrow.

"And where'd you hear this from?" Had news of my little encounter with the busty blonde spread already? More likely than not another regular had spilled the beans. Not that there was really anything to spill.

"Ah, my . . . sources. Ton-Ton's not in tonight, is she?" I blink at her for a minute before realizing what she means.

"Ton-Ton told you? Pshh, yeah, well, she _knows_ the blonde somehow. _I _don't though, because she seems really . . . irritating. She . . . she put a piece of paper down my shirt!" Instead of feeling sympathetic, Yoko starts laughing hysterically. A few other join in, and I slam their drinks down angrily, spilling a good part of them.

"Your _drinks_, assholes."

"I'm sorry," Yoko apologizes, with a grin still plastered on her face. "It just sounds like something a friend of mine would do."

"Well, maybe the two of them should meet up. Her name's Tsunade."

"How'd you know?" Yoko asks, sounding surprised as she takes a huge gulp of her sake. "I didn't think you hung out with that crowd, Shizune-sama."

"What?" I ask, turning my head to give her a confused glance. "That's what the blonde's name was. You don't mean . . . "

"_You're _Tsunade-sama's newest girl-toy?" She asks incredulously. "How did _you_ manage to catch the eye of the worst gambler in Japan? I'm not questioning your beauty in the least, honey, but Tsunade's known to be _picky_, and a bad judge of character."

I don't answer a good while, and I keep rubbing the inside of the glasses with my cloth, over and over again. "Well, the bad judge of character part seems to fit."

Kyohei lets out a loud laugh, and I shoot him an angry glare. "What? Do you have something nauseatingly _uplifting_ to say? I'm sarcastic, I'm cynical, I'm single-minded, I'm not caring and open, and I've been single for a good number of years. She _is_ a bad judge of character if she likes me."

"I like you. You make me laugh, while most things in my life make me want to cry." I would never admit it, but Kyohei makes me laugh, too.

"Your _poetry_ makes me want to cry." That gets me a few chuckles. Kyohei knows I'm kidding.

I think he really does like me, not just as a person, but as . . . a woman. I hate to lead people on, so I made sure to get the message through to him right away that I wasn't interested. He took it rather well, surprisingly, though sometimes he still tries to flirt with me. Unfortunately, I think I flirt back sometimes. But really, I can't see us going out.

For some reason, _her_ face flashes through my mind. Tsunade. Stupid blonde, she seems like the type to claw her way into people's lives.

_  
**I went to a party last Saturday night  
I told you that story, I'd be alright  
Uh, huh  
It ain't no big thing  
**  
_

Voice That Carries. I ended up asking Yoko if she knew where to find it, and she gave me an odd look, but answered nonetheless. I had the feeling it would be a less than respectable place. I was right.

Though decorated with things that looked like they had belonged to the natives of this land, the place had a wholly modern feel to it, with the cigarette smoke lingering on everything, and a dirty, greasy look to everything.

I sit at a table, and I wonder what I'm doing here. I cough a bit; I don't like cigarettes or their smell. I had a boyfriend once that was a chain smoker . . . needless to say, we didn't last long.

"You came!" A feel a heavy weight on my shoulder, and I look up to see Tsunade leaning over me, her bust hanging out of yet another loose shirt.

"I did. What is it you want?" I try to look bored and disinterested, but I don't think she's falling for it.

"Well," she says slowly, slurring her words so that it's painfully obvious how drunk she is, already. "You say you want to be a doctor, right?" I nod slowly, but I don't answer. What is she getting at? "Well, I'm a doctor, too! Of sorts. I don't have myself a fancy-smancy license and the diploma, but I've the brains, the education, and the satisfied customers to boot!"

I just blink at her for a little while. Is she _serious_? "What do you treat? Scrapes and headaches? If you practice medicine without a license, you're gonna get sued _and_ you're endangering the life of your patients."

She lets out a deep breath, as if she's already exasperated with explaining it to me. "I don't use your _pills_ and garbage. They have all that crap after effects and hidden addictions. They heal your stomachaches but they kill your goddamn brain cells, or they screw over your liver. No thanks, I care about my patients more than that." She's mocking me, and I hate it.

"Then what do you use, then? Magic? Are you claiming to be a witch doctor, then? Give me a chant, O great Tsunade-sama. Heal my wounds." I lift my arms up and I dare her to say something with my expression.

She crosses her arms over her ample chest, and hmphs. "Heal your own wounds. I'm no fuckin' shrink."

It kind of stings that she thinks I'm hurt inside. I ignore it, though. "Well, what can you heal, then?" I'm leaning on the table with my elbows splayed out in front of me, interested despite myself.

She doesn't really answer my questions, but raises a thin, blonde eyebrow and says, "Will you come with me?"

"Hmm. . . " She takes this for a yes, and slips a pack of cigarettes out of her cleavage. She pushes it back in once she's taken out two. Pulling a lighter out of her hair, she lights one, and rolls the other one across the table towards me. I stare at it for a second, before picking it up and breaking it in half. "Those things kill, you know. I thought you were a doctor."

She gets up, and shoots me an impish grin. "Honey, I'm dying anyway. What's a couple more years gonna matter?" She starts walking towards the back door, and I hesitate. Then, making a quick choice, I throw the two broken pieces of cigarette behind my left shoulder like salt, and I follow her out.

_  
**But I know what I like  
I know I like dancin' with you  
And I know what you like  
I know you like dancin' with me  
Yeah, yeah**_

We're lying on a field, and it's really quiet. I didn't know there were even places you could sit and not hear engines.

"Am I being healed?" I ask sardonically, staring up at the faint stars. I can barely see them. It is the smog, the lights? That second I would give anything to see the stars clearly.

"Shut up, you cynical bitch. I'm resting." She lets out some smoke, and I cough, hoping she'll get the message. She doesn't, and takes another long drag instead.

"Well, I came, doctor. I do have a life, you know." I don't know why, but I'm unexpectedly angry, and not even at her. I don't know, maybe angry at the world because we can't even see the stars anymore.

"Go back to work, then, if you're so bored. Your loss." Her airy tone makes me stop, and I decide to let her be. Maybe she will show me something worth seeing. One has to be open to different ideas, of course. That's the problem with men; they never accept anyone else's ideas but their own. So goddamn headstrong.

Finally, she rolls over, and begins crawling around on her knees. I wonder briefly if she's trying to pretend to be possessed, or something. She lets out a loud caw of excitement, and calls me over. I crawl over, myself, not caring that my nice pants are getting grass stains.

"It's . . . a flower," I announce dejectedly. I thought she was going to show me something _interesting_.

"Yeah. It's one of the best aphrodisiac I know. And believe me," she adds with a sly leer, "I know quite a few."

I groan and throw myself back down on the grass. "I thought you said you were a doctor! I thought . . . I didn't think you would show me some damn aphrodisiac!" I rub my fingers over my closed eyelids, and I sigh. I ask myself for the millionth time what I think I'm doing here, anyway.

When I open my eyes, her face is close, too closer. A little gasp escapes my lips, to my irritation, and I cover it up with a glare. Before I can say something scathing, she speaks. "Look, I'm only going to show you when you're willing to see something. Right now, even if I show you the Fountain of Youth, you'll be cynical and simply reply with a scornful, _that's it_?"

"What if I'm never ready to see anything?" I whisper back, almost afraid to speak too loudly.

She's already moving again, and I find I almost miss her lingering presence. "Then you're not the girl I thought you were."

"I don't think I'm the girl you think I am to begin with," I mutter under my breath, sitting up.

"Oh, yeah?" She retorts, as if I personally challenged her. I don't answer. Instead I pull myself to my feet and straighten my clothes, without even glancing at her. Big mistake.

She knocks me to the ground, with her arms wrapped around my torso. The breath is knocked out of me, and I want to push her off, but her grip is too tight. I want to curse at her. I want to kick at her.

And then she's kissing me, and I want to do is stay there forever.

It's different, I find, being kissed by another woman. With men, it was always demanding, always hard. They wanted the control, to be the dominant one. I always found I didn't care about being a uke or a seme, but with men it was almost more important than the act itself.

With Tsunade, it wasn't any gentler, but it wasn't a fight. It was an exchange, and I felt her, and I knew she felt me. It was like I could finally see those stars. Tsunade, with her cigarette smoke taste and too-large breasts had cleared the smog and turned off the lights.  


**Kiss me once  
Kiss me twice  
C'mon pretty baby, kiss me deadly**

My hands go up and push through her blonde tresses. I love the feel of her hair, and I know I will never get enough of it, no matter how much we make out. I breathe in her cigarette smell, which is somehow beautiful mixed with mint. I tilt my neck back further to expose a bit more skin to her eager lips.

We are at her apartment, and she is supposed to be showing me some medicinal herbs. Apparently, her real plan had nothing to do with herbs at all.

"Tsu-" A soft sigh escapes my slightly parted lips before I can finish saying her name. "Tsunade!" Her mouth stops biting at my neck, and she's look at me with suspicious, faintly glazed eyes.

"Yes, dear?"

"Don't call me dear," I murmur, pushing her off me and towards the other side of the couch. "I have work again today, Tsunade-chan, and I was looking forward to—"

"Oh, so you want to jump right into the—" I cut her off with a glare. No, that was not what I meant, my eyes said angrily. She sighed and rolled her eyes, pulling her usually cigarette out of her cleavage. I restrain myself from scolding her as I usually do. It really pisses her off, and I don't want to fight. "Fine, fine. C'mon, I'll show you what I give pregnant women."

The room in which she keeps all her herbs is completely different from the rest of her apartment. She does not know how to organize in the least, or so you would think if you never opened the blue door at the end of the hall. But behind that blue door there's a sort of inside garden—I always forget to ask her exactly how she does it—and every plant, every root is perfectly labeled. It's amazing.

This is now a ritual, practically. She calls me, and tells me to come over before work—she knows my schedule by now. I come over, after my usual complaint that this is so short notice, we make out on her couch for a while. Sometimes she actually shows me what she tells me she's going to, but usually I glance at the clock from behind her loose hair, and I rush to take a shower before I get to work late.

She's in the middle of explaining some obscure clarification—which I try very hard to understand, and when I do feel very accomplished—when she abruptly comes to a halt. I glance up at her in surprise. "Tsunade-ch—?"

"Why do you work at the bar? Ton-Ton tells me you got yourself a full scholarship to an amazing school. With those brains, you should be able to do a lot better than some bar where guys can grope you and you kill yourself with the secondhand smoke."

I don't like these personal questions, so I try to sidetrack it with a joke. "Well, I get enough secondhand smoke from you, so does it really make that much of a difference?" Okay, that came out a lot dryer than I wanted it to.

"That's not what I mean, Shizune. Don't play the idiot." Her eyes are digging into mine, and they're anything but glazed now. I hate when Tsunade gets all serious and thoughtful. She expects a truthful response, and I don't want to talk to her about this. Actually, I don't want to talk about this _period_. How is it her business how I earn my money anyway?

Her hands are on my waist, but she's not groping me playfully. "You feel so _thin_ sometimes, and I wonder if you're getting enough to eat."

I pull away and make a derisive noise. "I'm not going hungry. _Now_ who's being an idiot? I just forget to eat, sometimes. I do have to study, and stuff."

"You could get a job where you have more time to study and remember to eat." So I can't tell her to stop smoking, but _she_ can tell _me_ to eat more? Where does she get the _nerve_?

"Yeah, well, whatever. I've got to get to work." I walk out of the room, and towards the closet where I have taken to putting my coat. I think it's supposed to be somewhere where you place clothes, but my coat is the only article of clothing there. It's Tsunade's personal pervert collection closet, actually. I try not to touch anything.

"Not for a good _hour_, Shizune. What the fuck's your problem? I can't worry about you?"

Suddenly, I hate this. I hate her prying and I just want to shut her up. "This is my _last_ chance, okay? My last fucking chance to feel at home, okay?" I snatch my coat from the hanger it was precariously dangling from, and I push my arms through it, every movement angry and sharp.

"What do you _mean_ at home? You didn't grow up in the goddamn bar!"

I pivot around and shoot her a furious glare. "How the _hell _would _you_ know? You don't know a single thing about me."

She snorts, as if what I just said was the stupidest thing she ever heard. "I know you like cherry soy ice cream. I know you love medicine and healing, even if it leaves bags under your eyes. I know you hate putting your hair up. I know you secretly love to dance but don't have enough confidence in yourself to do it in public. I know you bite your thumb knuckle when you're nervous. I know it gives you chills every time I slip my hand under your shirt."

"Fuck you, Tsunade. That's not enough." Not nearly enough.

"Fine! If I don't know you, then _tell _me things. What do you think I am, a detective? You don't like to talk, Shizune, admit it. You like to lock yourself in your own head and pretend that no one else exists." She's come over to me by this time, and is gripping my shoulders in her abnormally strong grip. Sometimes she doesn't know her own strength. I know that even if I try to pull away, I won't be able to, and I'll end up only hurting myself.

"You want to know why I work at that grimy bar? You really want to know? I _had_ to get a full scholarship to get out of there! To get out of my dirty town and free of the restraints that boxed my parents in. They couldn't afford to send to a good school, so I had to do it on my own. But . . . but, once I've made it, once I _am_ a doctor, I'll lose everything I've ever known." I think she knows I don't want to be touched, I don't want to be held, just because that's my way. She lets go of me, but her gaze is locked on me and it's almost as if she's touching me anyway.

"What do you mean?"

"You, Tsunade, you've never had problems with cash, one can tell with just one glance. Even though you live in this apartment, I think it's more of a choice than a necessity. You've probably grown up in money, so I don't know if you can understand. But me . . . I've grown up with drunks and the junkies, with the girls that sell themselves, and the girls that stop feeling. I've grown up feeling like I'm always hungry, and now I'm on my way to being one of those people I had so much distain for, because they had all those healing powers in their hands, but always placed it just out of our reach. Because we didn't have the cash.

"But at the same time, I won't be one of _them_ either. They'll be like you, kids that never had need of anything since birth, and I think they'll _know_ instinctively I'm not like them at all. So I'll come back to the bar, to revisit old friends, but it won't be the same. I'll be apart from them, and . . .and . . . " She's smothering me between her breasts, but I'm glad. That way she can't see or hear my tears.

I hate crying in front of people. I'm not weak.  


**Had a few beers, gettin' high  
Sittin', watchin' the time go by,  
Uh, huh  
It ain't no big thing  
**

"Jiraiya?" I slide him another sake. "Well, nice name. Have a nice drink." I walk away; glad to have gotten rid of another perverted man so easily.

"Oh _come on_, have a drink with me, beautiful." I throw a wet towel in his face, and continue to serve politer, possibly less annoying customers.

And there she is. She's oddly punctual when she wants to be. "Shizune-_chan_!" She calls out, taking a seat next to the annoying white-hair man. She's also got a knack for picking the worst seats. I wave my hand in her direction to show I've heard her, and after a good ten minutes of serving people their _fun_ alchohol, I wander back to where she's sitting.

And I find her and that man giving each other evil looks. Well, it seems she didn't take a liking to him either.

"What are _you_ doing here?" She takes her lighter out of her hair first, which is a clear sign that she is perturbed. It's odd how I know this by now. Then she slips a cigarette out and places it lightly between her lips.

"What do you _think_ I'm here for? You need to come back." I look from one to the other, completely lost. I decide not to interrupt.

"I don't _want_ to. Why don't _you_ take over? You were his favorite nephew, anyway." She turns away from him, almost as if pretend he's not there, and she shoots me a smile. It's not her usually wily leer, but a fake, happy grin that I can tell means she is _desperate_ to get away. "How long 'til you get off?"

I raise an eyebrow, as if to say _you're explaining this tonight_, but my mouth said, "Let me ask Atsuko if she'll let me go early tonight." I hope Tsunade can control her anger for a _little_ while.

I should have known better. By the time I come back, she's threatening to hit the guy over the head with her stool, and she's picked it up over her head, to show him how serious she is. "Put the stool down, Tsunade!"

After a few seconds of hectic arguing, I persuade Tsunade to put the stool back where it belongs . . . on the floor. Unfortunately, it seems I'm going to be sore tonight because of it. She flips Jiraiya the bird as I lead her out.

"What was _that_ about?" I demand, pulling the door of her car open angrily. "I'm surprised they didn't kick you out immediately."

She doesn't say anything as she enters the car herself. I decide to let her smother for a while until she explains on her own accord.

By that time we're both lying on her bed, with my head lying on her flat stomach, my hair splayed messily around me. "Shizune-chan, you said I didn't know anything about you . . . right? Well, you don't know a whole lot about me, either." That's true, but I don't want to admit it.

"You were right about me growing up in money, though. My grandfather, he started this company that produces electronics, called Konohagakure, and. . . well, its CEO spot is always passed down in the family. I . . . I don't want to do it, though. The company's in really bad shape right now, and if I fuck up, we lose everything. I don't want that weight on my shoulders."

I shift and press my lips lightly against the bare skin of her stomach. "Then don't do it. Didn't you say that Jiraiya should do it anyway?"

"Jiraiya is a fucking idiot, and he knows it. He _can't_ be the CEO, and he doesn't want to anymore than I do. He's nothing more than a womanizing lawyer." She pauses and I look up. She's about to say something important; I can feel it. "And . . . and if I do accept, I'll . . . I'll have to leave. Leave you."

I don't know how to answer that. _I'm_ keeping her here? She has the chance to be some CEO and she'd rather be with _me_? Me, the cynical bitch that happens to sleep with her?

"You can't let _me_ keep you here, Tsunade," I reply, trying to keep all emotion out of my voice.

"Don't you want me to stay?" I sigh, and let my cheek rest against her abdomen. Of course I want her to stay, but there's no way I can allow myself to tell her that. I refuse to be anything but independent. If I tell her I want her to stay, it's like admitting I rely on her.

Anyway, what I am I to her, really? A 'girl-toy', a quick finger-fuck, friends with benefits?

She runs her fingers through my hair, and I close my eyes, just breathing her in gently. She's more than that for me. She suddenly makes me wonder if I'm completely wrong about _everything._ When I'm with her I don't need to worry about class, or about studying and responsibility. I can just be me, no matter how sarcastic and angry, or playful and wacky, I'm feeling. She's like my own personal nicotine.

"You'd probably hate me if I told you I loved you, wouldn't you?" I jolt at the words, and pull away from her massaging fingers.

"Do you?" I ask her, and I don't know what my eyes are saying, but I hope they're not pleading.

She lets out a loud, amused laugh. "You'd hate me. I've been with you enough to know you're too cynical about _amor_ to want someone to love you."

I ignore her, and I try to push away the part of me that thinks she's probably playing games with me. "Do you, or don't you? Don't fucking play around with me, Tsunade!"

Suddenly _she's _angry too. "_I'm_ fucking with _you_? You act as if you could care less about me, and the only time you actually give me a genuine smile or any show of affect is when we're both lying here, in bed. Most of the time I'm wondering what you're still doing here. You know, Ton-Ton's told me you're hard to work with . . . well, guess _what_? You're even harder to have a relationship with!"

"Well, live my life, and _then_ you can show me how open and caring you'll be. I'm sorry for not fawning all over you. Is that what you want?" I slide up to her until we're face to face, and I whisper, "You want me to whisper, _oh Tsunade-chan, I love you_?" I press my lips harshly against hers in a violent kiss, but she breaks away.

"Oh," she says sarcastically, glaring at me. "You _definitely_ aren't playing with me."

"Come on, Tsunade. Isn't this what you wanted? A show of affection?" I nibble a bit on her earlobe, and she shivers despite her anger. Then she throws me off so violently I nearly hit the wall. I don't move for a while, afraid that maybe she's broken something—like my spine. I push myself up—holding back a cry of pain when my surge of pain runs through my arm—and I look over at her.

She's not looking at me, and this is so _typical_ Tsunade.

"Fuck you, Tsunade. I hope you leave and never come back." I pick up the clothes that had been recently splayed around the room in various throes of passion, carefully leaving my left arm stiff against my body. I only take the time to slip my pants back on before I rush out of the room, determined to keep my face stony.

Once I reach the door, I realize at the cold breeze that suddenly hits me sharply that I left my coat behind. Instead of going back, I keep forward, not even caring if I die of hypothermia.

_  
**Nothin' to eat and no TV  
Lookin' in the mirror don't get it for me  
Uh, huh  
It ain't no big thing**_

I hate it here, I think to myself, and I realize that I seem to hate everywhere. I hate the bar. I hate school, where they act as if I'm out of my league, even when I do better than they do. I hate my own apartment, because wherever I look, I want to think of _her_.

Even my own body wants me to remember her. Every time I think of my broken arm, _she_ comes to mind.

So when I spot a pack of her cigarettes on my bookshelf, who does my mind immediately jump to?

You've got it right. Tsunade-bitch. Even so, I wander over there and pick them up. Sticking them in my back pocket, I go to my kitchen so see if I can forage a match from one of the drawers. I slip a white cigarette out of the pack—which is half-empty—and I place it between my lips. This feels stupid, the unlit killer in my mouth, but I light the match nonetheless, and I lift the flame to end of the cigarette.

I cough in the beginning, but I get used to it. The smoke goes in, and it comes out. I take deep drags and I watch the thin gray smoke rise up until it disappears before my very eyes.

I glance over at the clock. I have work in half an hour, I realize vaguely. God, you have no idea how much I didn't feel like going. I didn't want Ton-Ton to give me those side-ways glares, and I definitely didn't want Yoko to raise her eyebrow in my direction, partly asking if I'm all right, but also asking _why_? I don't want to answer _fucking_ why.

I go anyway. Instead of Yoko, there's that perverted prick instead . . . Jiraiya. Great, I think to myself, my day just keeps getting better and better. I remember the pack of cigarettes still in my pocket, and I take one out. This is the beginning of a beautiful death, I think cynically, and I ask Kyohei for his lighter.

"I thought you didn't smoke," he asks, passing it to me. I shrug, and I flick it open, lighting the cigarette in a sloppy movement, almost dropping it.

I pass him back his lighter. "I do now." I walk off without another word.

Jiraiya's calling me over, but I delay as long as I can manage before going over. "What do you want?" I snap angrily, flicking some ashes off the end of my cigarette into a nearby ashtray. I would rather stick the lit end into his hand, but I have more self-control than _that_.

"I just wanted to thank you, is all," he says easily, taking a careful sip of his sake.

I cock an eyebrow in confusion. "Thank me for what?"

"You convinced Tsunade, didn't you? I knew at first glance you were a girl that could see reason. Tsunade-sama probably explained how much this job doesn't suit me _at_ all." He says this in such a _cocky_ tone, that it makes me want to punch him. Stupid bastard.

"I haven't seen Tsunade in a week. She made this decision all on her lonesome." I pause for a second, and then I give a good, angry glare. Partly for me, and partly for Tsunade. "I hope you choke."

**But I know what I like  
I know I like dancin' with you  
And I know what you like  
I know you like dancin' with me  
Oh, yeah**

I lift my hand to knock on the door when it's pulled open on its own. Well, not really on its own.

Tsunade pulls it open.

We just stare at each other for a bit, as if we aren't sure if the other is really there. As if we have had to many dreams and nightmares that we aren't sure we've awakened yet.

"Tsunade-sama. I—I . . . " There's nothing I can think of to say.

"What are you doing here?" Apparently, that's not true of both of us.

"I'm sorry for being a bitch, and don't think I'm trying to get back together with you, because I'm not. I just think everyone should get what they deserve, and Jiraiya and Ton-Ton told me you're leaving soon, and I didn't want you to go without me having said sorry, because then I would feel like a bitch, and _fucking_ _hell_, I—" I say this quickly and rushed, with little breathes in between. I almost wish I hadn't come, because then there wouldn't be this awkward rush of word spilling out of my mouth, and my cheeks wouldn't be flushed with embarrassment.

"Shut the hell up, Shizune. Your brain's too big for you to talk like an idiot." She pauses, probably deciding her next move. "Come inside for a bit. I'm actually about to leave for the airport, but I can be a little bit late." She kicks the door further open with her foot and backpedals until I can step inside.

It looks so much emptier; like just another apartment without feeling or life. "You're leaving _now_?" I ask incredulously. I can't believe it's _now_. If I had been five minutes late, I might have never seen Tsunade again. I don't know what would have been worse, never seeing Tsunade again, or having to live without knowing if we left of civil terms.

"Yeah. It's just like Jiraiya to call me on such short notice." There's another good bit of awkward silence. Well, what the hell, it's not like I'm ever going to see her again.

"Tsunade, do you forgive me or not?" She doesn't even have to think for a second before she responds.

"Of course, you idiot." She cocks an eyebrow in the smaller woman's direction. "You sure are _stubborn_. It took you forever to get the nerve to come over here and apologize—"

What? This wasn't a one-sided apology! Now Tsunade was supposed to say, _I'm sorry, too Shizune. Now let me go off and leave you in peace. Maybe _now_ you can get some therapy!_ Not some stupid, cocky comment about how long it took Shizune to 'get the nerve.'

"If I remember right, I wasn't the _only_ one being an asshole!" How wonderful. I come to apologize and Tsunade can _still_ make me angry enough to start a fight with here again.

"Fine. Sorry." She says it in such a way that it sounds as if she's just saying it to shut me up, but . . . I know her too well. The little glance she spares me, to see if I accept it. It screams _forgiveness_.

Okay, maybe I won't start a fight with her.

"Well, now that that's done, I guess I don't need to keep you waiting any longer, then, right?" I'm already walking myself to the door as soon as I open my mouth. Then Tsunade's hand is on my arm, stopping me from walking any further. I'm glad that my arm's healed by now, because her grip _hurts_. What's this, then? I cock a surprised eyebrow in her direction.

"Hm?"

"Well, since this is probably our last night out, let's spend it having fun instead of being awkward." She lets the bag on her back fall to the ground with a loud _thump_. I stare at it in shock. How was it that _Tsunade_ was holding something like that? She's like some kind of superhuman, sometimes.

"B-but you have to be at the airport . . ." I remind her nervously; unsure I want to the blamed for taking Tsunade away from her new CEO responsibilities. She shrugs, and I realize that she could care less about being late.

"Let's go dancing, Shizune."

So we go, because, well, I'm not going to fight Tsunade. One, because she could probably beat me in fight with one arm tied around her back and her eyes closed. I don't really want to know where she got these skills and strength from, so I've never asked, but I've never really tried to _provoke _her either . . . well, not intentionally.

I let her drag me off to a dance club, where the music is loud and it claws at my ears like a wild cat. I stay there reluctantly, mostly just trying to copy Tsunade's moves and keep the guys (and occasional girls) from groping me. I think Tsunade gets the message eventually, and we leave the place. Instead of leave me to get home; even though it's rather _early_ in the evening, Tsunade stares at me expectantly.

It's my turn to pick a place.

I can't help but grin.

Shows really aren't Tsunade's kind of place. People pressed together, and hard, heavy music with guitars and voices scratchy from drugs and booze . . . nah, Tsunade would rather grind to the beat. But for some reason, Tsunade stay there, and doesn't storm on out. She moshes, she talks, she drinks.

We both got quite drunk that night and most of the night is hazy, truth be told. Even so, I'm pretty sure Tsunade kissed me that night. Not that I cared . . . of course.

I somehow get home and I awaken with a horrible headache. And half-forgotten memories and a few bruises on the inside of my thighs. I curse, take a shower and call Tsunade immediately after.

"Whaaaaa?" She answers gracefully, sounding as bad as I feel.

"It's Shizune."

"Ah," Tsunade replies slowly, and neither of us can find something to say. I have a feeling we went a little far last night. It's obvious I expect Tsunade to speak first, since she's declared more than once how she is the one to wear the metaphorical pants in this relationship. "You left your bra here last night." All my fears are proven to be true, and I let out a sigh.

Damn. I wanted to still be pissed at her.

"What are we now, Tsunade?" I ask quietly, and my question is greeted with only silence on the other end for a good bit of time.

"What do you _want _us to be, Shizune? Will you wait for me while you're in school? Can I be your crazy, New Age girlfriend while you go around doctoring for low prices because you want to help your 'people'?" I don't know whether she's joking or not.

"I'm serious, Tsunade."

"So am I, Shizune. You're not just a quick fuck for me, okay? I'll wait for you if you wait for me . . . " There's a long pause. I'm a few years off from graduating still, and the idea that Tsunade would remain faithful for that length of time is . . . well, improbable. "Will you?" I finger the outline of the box of cigarettes in my box for a second before pulling it out and gazing at it intensely.

"Hold on a second," I say quickly, and I rush to the nearest garbage can, and I shove the cigarettes in there. "Take that!" I mutter, and I walk back to the phone.

"Tsunade . . . Okay. I'll wait."

A short, nervous laugh on the other end. "Heh. You better."

_**Kiss me once  
Kiss me twice  
C'mon pretty baby, kiss me deadly**_

**Fin.**


End file.
